frowny baby

Over lunch recently, a friend mentioned that most of his conversations with his peers these days revolve around which varieties of tomatoes he’s growing rather than which new bars are opening in Manchester.  And that’s okay.  When, he wondered, did this happen and does this mean he’s now a grown up?

I must admit that I’m finding myself in the same boat, or certainly a very similar one.  At the moment, I’m pondering how we might improve the size of our courgette haul next year, and I’m looking at books called “Vegetable Growing Month-by-month” on Amazon.

There’s just something lovely about growing things that you can eat. I do love seeing the little courgettes starting to grow, and I was genuinely excited when we got our first red tomato. And it isn’t just me.  D came home from seeing a band the other night and, at midnight, led me by the hand across the lawn and shone a torch into the greenhouse.  There, hiding behind the jungle of leaves was a small but perfectly formed aubergine.  Our first.  It was a moment of delight.

It’s not something I was expecting. A few months ago, I wrote one of those 25 Things notes that were floating around Facebook, and my number 8 read thus:

As far as plants are concerned, I am clothed in black and am the carrier of a scythe. My favourite Christmas present this year was a resurrection fern because, apparently, I can’t kill it! Bet I can.

It was true. Until recently, any plant species that came within 10 yards of me found itself turning brown and crinkly within days. And when we were offered the tomato plants earlier this year, D and I were less than enthusiastic. “Oh I don’t know,” D said with a furrowed brow, “It’s a big responsibility.” However, we took the big step and ‘the children’ moved into the greenhouse - all ready to be nurtured by their new parents. I can’t say we’ve been the best parents. The children were often left without food and water for days on end, and we let them run a big wild in their new home (they grow up fast) so they turned all gangly and teenage on us after a few weeks. These days they’re looking a bit like arthritic pensioners - all bent over and unable to support their own weight. But, even though they’ve been left to fend for themselves, we’ve had some success and, armed with Amazon purchases and our new-found experience, I reckon we’ll do better next year. Now, what to plant…..

D reckons my CD collection is full of what he refers to as ‘frootloop girls’. Of course, I refute this accusation, but sometimes I must concede that he might have a point. I heard this track on Radcliffe and Maconie this week and absolutely loved it. After I’d looked up the video, I had to admit that I could see what he was talking about. I still love it though.

Remember when you were at school, and there was that kid.  The one who was a bit wheezy and a bit fat.  The one who never did cross country and couldn’t hit a rounders ball even if you threw it from two feet away?

Allow me to introduce myself.

So it came as a bit of a shock to find myself crossing the finish line of my first 10k run this weekend.  A lot of a shock actually.

About three months ago, the owner of the Reservoir Mogs told me that she’d signed up for a 10k run to raise money for Cancer Research.  We were sat in Sand Bar having a few drinks, and I was still trying to make sense of Richmal’s death.  “Why don’t you join me?” she asked, and I laughed because everyone knew that I wasn’t capable of running to the end of the road, never mind completing a 10k run.  Turns out that everyone didn’t know that….including me as it happens because I signed up two days later.

I signed up because I needed to do something positive for Rich.  I needed to do something to celebrate her life, and remember the fabulous person that she was.  I also couldn’t shake the thought that I was alive and I should start to push myself out of my comfort zone a bit.  Rich always used to say that you should never let your life stand still, and you should do something different every couple of years at least.  I thought I’d let this be my something different.

I have to admit that when I first put the trainers on and started plodding up and down the streets of my town, I had absolutely no faith that I would be able to run any of it.  Ever since my wheezy childhood, my subconscious had told me that any attempt at exercise would end in failure and humiliation.  Frankly, when I was a kid it always had done.  I was excused from taking part in everyone’s favourite PE lesson because of asthma and I’ve always believed that running is just  something I can’t physically do.  Who would have believed that I would want to carry on running now that race day is over?

It was an emotional day.  The minutes silence at the beginning was a reminder of the real reason I was dressed in the turquoise t-shirt, but the messages on the backs of those t-shirts was also a reminder that everyone was there because they loved someone enough to try and make a difference….and that was a really positive thing to remember.  I might not have been the fastest, but crossing that finish line at all was a massive achievement, and a mental hurdle well and truly jumped.  It was also my small tribute to Richmal - someone who never let the small stuff get her down.

Richmal, I couldn’t have done it without you lovely girl.  This one’s for you. xx

Richmal, you said that you wanted us to remember you as you were and not how you ended. Here’s what I remember.

I remember a wicked laugh, a mischievous smile, and masses of curly brown hair that made you look like a little girl.

I remember chatting for hours over copious amounts of beer, and the time that we forgot to eat and feasted on a dinner of 6 packets of cheese and onion crisps.

I remember that torturous conference dinner where you reappeared after nipping out for a fag saying, “I’ve met this fantastic woman outside - she’s just like Joanna Lumley and she wants to know if we want to go salsa dancing.” I wish that you could come to every conference dinner I have to go to.

I remember you running away from the horny Canada goose that had taken a fancy to you and held you hostage at work. See, even the goose knew you’d be nice to him.

I remember how funny you were and how much fun you were to be with. At your funeral, Andy said that you always knew when you’d been Richmaled and he was right.

I remember how kind you were to everyone, especially the people that everyone else thought was mad but you saw the best side of. Remember the woman we met in that Glasgow pub who had woken up after an accident with no memory of her life? You chatted to her as easily as you chatted to your mates. I loved the way you could do that, the way you made people feel welcome.

I remember how much you loved Andy, and Erin and Toby, even though you never thought that you were the marriage and kids type.

I remember how cool your outlook was and how you never let anything get you down. Whenever I start to get worked up about trivial things, I see your face and hear your voice saying, “it’s only money”, or “it’s just a job” and I know you’re right. You told me that the only important things are to be happy and for the people you love to be happy too. I think I’ll always hear your voice reminding me of that.

I remember how pleased I always was to hear from you, and I can’t believe that I never will again.

You were lovely, and you were too young. Ta ra Rich, we’ll miss you x

Okay, so I didn’t exactly manage to write something every day did I? Well there’s a reason for that - a scumbag spammer shaped reason. After discovering that the content of some of my posts was mysteriously disappearing, D checked the SQL database and discovered masses of spam. I was confused because I have Aksimet installed, and I’d cleared my spam recently. But no - the scumbag spammers had infiltrated the code and overridden my posts with hidden spam messages.

So, Wordpress duly updated and code spring cleaned, I am now waiting to make sure that the spammers do not return.

And then I shall resume my experiment.

Bastards.

I spent yesterday with Andy.  Andy is the only one of my friends that has stuck around since school and, sadly, one of the few close friends that still lives close by.

We chatted a lot about friendships yesterday.  It’s strange how you meet people and almost seem to know immediately that this person is going to be making you laugh and listening to your ramblings for many years to come.  I can remember meeting Andy very clearly - back in the days when I had a dubious 60s hippy wardrobe and he lived in shorts and trainers (even in January) - and we hit it off immediately despite the fat that we were (and still are) as different as chalk and cheese.  It never seems to happen anymore, that instant spark and immediate bond. Maybe it’s just something that happens when you’re in your overly emotional late teens and early 20s? But how on earth do you meet new people and find that spark when you’re 34?  Wish it was easier.

I’ve been missing Loo massively recently.  It makes me so sad that I can’t just pop over for a cup of tea and a chat anymore. She’s coming back over to Manchester next weekend and I can’t wait to see her I really can’t. I’m also hoping to see Emma on Tuesday on a working trip to London, so this week is shaping up nicely. If only they were closer.

I haven’t posted anything to this blog since January!  Even by my standards that’s pretty poor.

So. An experiement. I’m going to see if I can manage to post something to this blog every day this week.  Even if it’s only a couple of words I’ll do it. You watch me.

Making resolutions in the new year always seems a little bit artificial (why can’t we decide to do things in any other month of the year?), and I’ve never really been one to decide on specific goals when the clock chimes.  One thing I have realised recently though, is that I should think about my future a little bit more rather than just leaving everything to fate.  I did an exercise recently, where I was asked to sit down with my felt-tip pens and draw where I’d like to be in five years.  I initially thought I had absolutely no idea, but when I started to doodle, I filled an A1 sheet in no time.  So maybe I should start thinking about how to achieve some of it?  Mind you, if you mention the words “five year plan” to me you won’t see me for dust.

2008 wasn’t exactly an ideal year (then again, how many are?) with financial worries and such, and I ended the year on a bit of a low point despite efforts to deal with my anxiety.  My outlook now is a little more positive though, and I can see good things for 2009.  It should be the year in which Mr D and I finally take the plunge and move in together properly, and the early months will definitely see a new job for me (albeit in the same office!). It might be the year to embark on that M.A. that I keep harping on about, or to learn something new and buy that guitar or that loom.  One thing I can be sure about is that I probably won’t do half of the things I’d like to do unless I give myself some goals.  I can’t bring myself to actually write a list, but they’re in my head and that will have to do for now!

I just spent a really lovely weekend in Lancaster with my old housemate.  I’ve only been back to Lancaster a handful of times since I left in 1996, but every time I visit I feel like I’m coming home.  Strange how it feels more like home than Wigan does, and I grew up there.  Lancaster feels so familiar, and walking around the old haunts this weekend felt like falling back into a comfortable routine - almost as though I’d just been home for the vac.

One thing we certainly didn’t do though is visit our old college.  Lancaster is run on a collegiate system.  Listen in on two Lancaster graduates chatting about their uni days, and within the first five minutes you’re bound to hear the question, “so which college were you in?”  We’re all sentimentally and proudly attached to our old colleges, and mine and L’s was Grizedale.  So it was a shock, last year, to hear (from another ex-Lancs person who had just asked the inevitable question) that it’d been demolished and replaced with a whole new and improved Grizedale.  It was really saddening to walk around the bit of Campus where our rooms (B139 and B138) used to stand.  B139, gone.  The bar, gone.  The porter’s lodge, gone.  The quad, gone. Even Depravo the Rat (undoubtedly THE best university college mascot ever), gone!  I don’t mind admitting there were tears in my eyes.

It’s all very swish now.  Nothing like in our day…..oooooh, no!  I remember being shown to my room on my first day by a third year.  “This is you” he said, opening the door to reveal a tiny room with bare brick walls, “it’s not legally big enough to keep pigs in.”  Seeing the look of disbelief on my face, he followed up with, “it’s not.  Honestly, look it up!”  I never did look it up, but do you know what, I believe him.

And do you know what else?  It might say Grizedale on those signs, but Grizedale it ain’t, and Grizedale it never shall be.  It might have been a dump….but it was OUR dump….and a glorious one at that!

*This was the slogan from my old Depravo the Rat college t-shirt - now a very comfy nightie.

We’re both off on holiday next week, so we thought we’d better renew our travel insurance.  As D is travelling to India to throw himself down mountains - the Himalayas no less - I decided it would be best to check that he would be covered.  And he is.

But if he wants to race Ostriches we’re buggered.